Thicker Than Water
by lessa4
Summary: A vampire and a slayer meet and by a cruel twist of fate, fall in love. But neither knows the other's secret. But when they find out, which one will survive the encounter? R for violence, alcohol, language and mature content. KH.
1. Prologue

This is an AU H/K, set in NYC. Rated 'R' for limes, probable lemons, violence, excessive amounts of blood, swearing and heavy dark undertones. This is not a happy fic. At least, not now, we'll see how long that lasts . . . This is a vampire fic, so if you don't have the stomach, or don't like the concept, please do not read. This is also a very slashy fic, meaning male/male relationships, again, if you don't have the stomach or don't like the concept, don't read. I want no flames for this one, I'm very proud of it, and believe it is my best work to date.

Standard disclaimers apply to every chapter, I don't own YYH, or any brand products or songs. Original characters are mine though, and any similarities they have with real names are purely coincidental, and the characters have not been based on the person they happen to share a name with.

I hate this lawyer business. I won't do it again, so rest easy friends. - On with the fic. (BTW, this is the prologue, so it's only a page long. - I'll post chapter one too, I promise!)

Thicker Than Water

A scream echoed through the still night, slicing through the silence as a knife through flesh.

Sultry lips curled into a smile of pleasure as he reveled in the fear that oozed from his victim, red eyes glowing in the darkness, paralyzing the woman lying at his feet.

He was thirsty. Oh, so thirsty.

Where would he do it? The wrist was most convenient, but then the taste would be dull, almost to the point of sourness. The throat was more traditional, and the sweetest. But the blood would flow so fast and strong that he would miss some.

Didn't matter. Humans had plenty of blood.

And he was thirsty. So thirsty . . .

He bent low, pressing his mouth to the smooth skin of her neck. Fangs flashed an unearthly white, reflecting the sickly moon above them, another scream cutting through the air. Ah, but that was the glory of the city. No one heard, and if they did, no one cared.

Thirsty . . .

Blood rushed past his lips, down his throat. The thick, sweet liquid flooded his senses, sending him into a frenzy of lust and need. After the briefest of eternities, the pulse began to slow, the tide of crimson ebbing, and he began to suck greedily, trying to retain every last drop.

His face lifted to the sky, the moon throwing his features into an eerie, corpse-like pallor. Blood trickled down his chin, shining blackly in the shadows. A delicate, long-boned hand reached up and wiped the scarlet liquid off, his tongue snaking out to lick it sensually away like some great, twisted feline.

Blood lust. It was back. Now he wished he hadn't drained the girl entirely, if only for his amusement. Oh but never would he have changed her. She was too weak, the dark gift would have killed her more certainly than his draining her. But he could have had some fun with her first.

He would have cursed his thoughtlessness, but it was no use crying over spilled milk. Or, rather, blood. His urge to feed had been greater than his lust, and it had been well worth it.

The thirst had abated; there was no more need for nourishment. For now.


	2. One

Okay, experimenting with limited omniscient, so bear with me here. -.-; Not as easy as I thought it would be. Right, vampire-y goodness, standard disclaimers, leave a review, and have a nice day! (Or night. Whatever. -)

Thicker Than Water

Chapter One

Kurama sighed, wiping out the inside of the glass with a well-worn but clean rag. The redhead's absent gaze flickered to the clock on the opposite wall for what seemed to be the millionth time that night. 10:32. If he could hold on for another twenty-eight minutes, this torturous monotony of a shift would be over.

Not that he didn't enjoy working at the bar, on most nights, quite the opposite in fact. The building was of old, faded brick that made the dark interior warm and inviting, instead of the ominous black of most of the bars in New York, making the name Nocturne's Nest a laughable title. As a result, it was a relatively quiet tavern, rarely hosting more than twenty-five customers at a time.

Emerald eyes swept the room. He was the only occupant, save a man slumped over a table in the far corner, bottle in hand, snoring gently. He'd have to make sure someone woke the poor fellow before closing.

His ears were assaulted by the roar of an engine pulling away from the mainstream of traffic and into the parking lot of the Nest. Looking up from the glass, Kurama watched through the front window as a motorcycle halted in a parking space and the driver cut the engine. A shadowed figure swung of the seat and locked the kickstand into place with the ease of practice. The black helmet came off to reveal a gravity defying hairstyle, and an equally black leather jacket was removed as well, joining the helmet to rest on the bike's seat.

The figure sauntered through the door of Nocturne's Nest, and Kurama got a clear view of the young man. His build was on the short side, but his spiked-up hair added the few inches that made his height about average. A white starburst exploded in the front of the black mass, and several dark strands leaked out over a white bandana. Besides these two minor details, practically everything about him was black; black hair, black jeans, black boots, black shirt, complete with torn-off sleeves. Even the tattoo of a dragon that curled sinuously around his forearm was black.

The newcomer glanced around the room in a manner that suggested he was assessing the place. Obviously finding to his satisfaction, he sat down on a barstool, leaning his muscular arms on the bar, his stare focused on the shining surface.

"Can I get you something?"

The stranger looked up, and Kurama jerked back in surprise. The eyes that locked onto his with dry amusement were red. Blood red.

He smirked a bit, his lip curling to reveal pointed incisors in an otherwise perfect mouth. "Hn," he scoffed, closing his eyes briefly. "Scotch." His voice was soft and deep, whispering of hidden secrets and dark promises.

Kurama fought to calm his racing pulse, pouring the drink into the shot glass with a hand that had begun to tremble. He placed it and the bottle in front of his mysterious customer.

Without a word, the man downed the alcohol with a tiny grimace as it seared its way down his throat. Reaching out, he refilled the glass, staring at it moodily for a moment. Again, his bloody gaze lifted to meet the wonder-struck field of emerald, and held them as he swallowed the amber liquid, pulled a bill from his pocket to lie on the counter, only breaking as he turned to walk out. Kurama watched as he put on his jacket and helmet, swung his leg over the bike and revved it, speeding away into the stream on neon.

Even after the roar of the motorcycle faded, Kurama still stared out the window, stunned past the point of motion. It was true, he had seen his fair share and then some of the nuts that would hang out at a bar, but this was vastly different. The redhead had never seen _him _before, and the Nest wasn't well-known. His eyes glazed over as visions of that angelically demonic face swam before him. The pale features were fine and strong, enough to make his heart leap to his throat. And the eyes . . . in all his years, never had Kurama seen such eyes. They were hard and cold, but behind the ice was a fiery warmth that completely contradicted itself. Those magma colored orbs had been deeper than the darkest chasm, full of secrets and shadows. They almost screamed of agony and wretchedness, and the faint, but undying glimmer of determination driven by a hope or dream long dead.

He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. Though the next shift had yet to arrive, Kurama untied his apron, folding it on the counter and walking around the bar. Nocturne's Nest would be fine in the ten or so minutes his co-worker took to get there. Slipping around the back, he unlocked the door of his worn, red Honda and slid into the driver's seat. Igniting the engine, he shifted gears and made his way downtown.

The streets of New York City had never been the most scenic of places. It was, after all, the city that never sleeps. But despite the bustle of traffic and the seedy characters that prowled the sidewalks, Kurama made his way home with ease, casually turning dime-drop corners and moving down hidden roads.

Pulling up in front of an abandoned, undersized church, Kurama shifted into park and locked the now-silent vehicle behind him. Walking up to the sturdy double doors, he inserted a key and twisted. The door swung open to reveal a tiny sanctuary, filled with pews and an alter, a single door leading to a side-room.

That was his goal. His own little niche, a comfortable room that hosted a couch that served double duty as a bed against one wall, a TV/VCR set next to a closet on the opposite side. A minute archway, whose door hung partially open contained a bathroom and washer-dryer set. Everything he needed in the world, right in his own little paradise.

Kurama pulled off his shirt and replaced his faded blue jeans with black ones. A black tee was pulled over his head, and he tied his crimson locks back with an elastic band. And blood that was spilt wouldn't show up until he could wash it off, provided the observer only got a glimpse of him.

Another night, another satisfying death. He would rid the world of the blight that had taken over, single-handedly if that was the case. He would make this place safe for others.

Clasping a cross about his neck with no small hint of irony, he strode into the sanctuary, through the pews, and was gone into the night.

The motorcycle sped down the roads and between the tightly packed cars, shouts and horns blaring after it. There! Down that ally, he was all alone. All the dark-clad being had to do was pick him off. No one would even know he was gone, until it was too late to help him. And he would never be suspected . . .

The man had tried to run. That was a mistake. When the victim ran, he reveled in the chase. Hearing his prey's heart race as they began to tire, to smell their despair as their footfalls became slower and less sure.

Within seconds of the thrill of these tell-tale signs, the man stumbled, pitching to the pavement. Fangs flashed in the light of the moon as they protruded from his upper lip. He grinned, revealing his incisors to their fullest extent, ruby eyes glinting with sadistic joy as he began to toy with his meal.

"Your ankle is twisted, you know. There's no way you can stand on it, let alone run. And even if you could, I'd still find you."

"Wh-what the hell d'you want with me?" the voice that emanated from the man trembled with the fear of the unknown.

Oh, it was too much, he couldn't resist. Kneeling beside his prey, he whispered softly, almost alluringly in his ear, "I want to drink your blood . . ."

The man's eyes widened. "What sort of freak are you!?"

Lips quirking into a smile that would have made the Devil himself cower, the reply came in a cold, heart-wrenching purr of malice. "I am the shadow, the things your nightmares are made of. I am the damned, and I'm taking you to Hell with me."

His mouth lowered, brushing against his victim's throat. The pulse beneath his lips raced. Using a single fang, he oh so carefully slit the vein open the tiniest bit, running his tongue along the cut, feeling it widen as the pressure from the man's wildly beating heart opened it further. Closing his mouth over the wound, he grinned as his prey moaned, feeling the intoxication of his blood lust.

He couldn't take it any longer. With a sigh born of pure bliss, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of the neck, letting the blood flow unchecked into his mouth, swallowing as fast as it came. The warm metallic liquid danced erotically around his tongue, trying in vain to rid himself of this unquenchable thirst.

The life-giving substance slowed as the last blood was taken and the body lay lifeless on the concrete. Standing, he looked down at it in contempt, a low growl forming deep in his throat. It was never enough. He could drain them completely, but the longing inside never abated, never gave him peace. And when his thoughts turned to pessimism as they did now, he lost all pleasure in the kill. There was nothing for it but to feed again, to stalk the shadows and drag down another to sate his desires. But the night was young still. And he was thirsty. So thirsty . . .

The shadowed one walked out of the ally to his waiting motorcycle, glancing over his shoulder at the bloodless body behind him. Never turn your back to anything but a corpse. Those words, spoken so long ago had served him well in the past, and would continue to do so until he finally drew his last breath.

Black and silver streaked down the street as he roared towards his apartment. Ignoring a red light completely, he turned a sharp corner, scraping his elbows on the blacktop as he leaned into the curve.

He pulled to a halt outside the complex, locking the brake as he snatched the keys from the ignition. He didn't bother to secure the vehicle, if anyone tried to hijack his bike; they would find it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Entering the lobby, he sneered as he passed the elevator, as was his custom. Elevators were for the weak in his mind, and no power on earth could make him go into one of those birdcages, for he was anything but. Opening a door and slipping through it, he proceeded to sprint up the fifteen flights of stairs to his level.


	3. Two

Okay, this is really starting to make me mad. I don't know why it's happening, but it's going on in all my other fics too. I can't use little symbol thingies to show changes in time or POVs, and those happen to be crucial to UNDERSTANDING the story!!! Grr. So I'm going to be messing around with this, please bear with me. If there is a random letter by itself on a line, that's a pretty good hint something just changed. Or I could stop being a lazy arse and just write POV Switch, or Change In Time . . .

Meheheheh . . . Oh, a certain review made me very happy. I am evile, and my plot is working! Muahahahaha! _rubs hands together _I win.

Psh. 'Is it slash?' My dear Iridescent Moon, I don't write anything else anymore, if I can help it.

Storm31!! Hooray! I missed you! You have no idea how happy it made me to see your little screen-name do-hicky. I sat up and went "Squeee! I is loved!" It's very depressing, yours was only the second review I've gotten for this one, and I was hoping this would be a pick-me-up. Oh well. So I have permission to get back on , 'cause my parents have realized how important my writing is to me, and since it's too expensive to find a publisher at this point, here I am. But don't look for updates on that horrid Tadaima thing; I've reposted 13, and it'll explain it all. Anyway, thanks so much for remembering me, I told you I'd come back. Peace and blessings.

Oh, and love to my little sister. I was stuck, 'cause I had written myself into a corner, and I was having a hissy fit at the keyboard (because it was clearly the keyboard's fault) and she comes over, reads it, and goes "Well, what if this happened . . ." at which point, I had to glomp her. And now the story is no longer a ball of angst, it's humorous too. Happy day.

This is one of those chapters that's boring but nessicary. Bear with me, I beg you. I'll try to make it fun.

Two

How much about Vampyres do we truly know? That they cannot go into the Sunlight, that a clove of garlic will keep them away, a stake through the Hart is the only way to destroy them. They do not eat or drink, and spend their days sleeping in crypts before rising to feast on the Living. But how much of this lore was created by the Vampyres themselves, to throw the wary Man off? Are they Creatures of the Nyte, or do they walk under the Sun like Men? One may never know untyl it is too late . . .

Excerpt from a journal found in Rome, dated from 146 BC

A fellow Shadow Stalker was dead. None knew how it had happened, only that his body had been found thrown into an ally, a deep wound where something had pierced his chest to reach his heart. It could have been anything, a knife fight, a desperate victim, or the plain bad luck of facing someone with good aim and a strong arm.

The body had been dragged into an open space before dawn, so the sun would turn it to dust as it rose. The police would not be allowed to find it. But once that had been dealt with, none of the others cared . . .

Switch

Kurama sighed as a soft shaft of light fell through the window to rest gently on his cheek. He moaned in contentment, snuggling deeper into his sheets on the couch. His eyes began to drift shut again, when a faint, but annoying shrill came from the pocket of his discarded jeans, making the denim vibrate.

His slender arm reached out, catching hold of one of the pant legs. Tugging, he pulled them onto the couch with him, digging into the pocket and drawing out his cell phone. Flipping it open, he cradled it between head and shoulder, burrowing back into the warm covers. "Hello?"

"Where were you last night?" He winced at the tight voice on the other end. His girlfriend did not sound happy, which boded ill for him.

"Celia, I'm sorry . . ."

"You're _sorry_? Kurama, I waited for you for two and a half hours. And when I tried to call you, you didn't pick up the phone! I mean, Jesus, this is the fifth time this month. What's going on?"

Oh, if only she knew. "I'm really sorry babe, I've been busy lately and it just . . . blew my mind."

Her sigh was muffled, but nevertheless sounded as though she had forgiven him. Again. "Whatever. Can you come over tonight? I miss you."

"I'd love to, you know I would, but I've got double shift tonight. You could come visit?"

He could practically see her turn her nose up in distaste. "I don't think so K'rama. Call me later okay? And get some sleep, you sound like you've been running around Manhattan all night."

A grin spread across his features at that. Saying his goodbyes, he closed the phone, reluctantly edging his way out from the couch. Nothing was going to get done if he stayed in bed all day, and besides, he craved a doughnut and a coffee from the nearest Starbucks.

Switch

A dark figure groaned as a piercing ray of sunlight fell through his fifteenth story window and onto his pillow. Rolling over he swept the crisp covers off, making his cautious way to the window. Reaching out a long, pale hand, he jerked the curtains shut, blocking the outside world from his dark haven.

Returning to the bed, he crept into it, drifting back to the realm of dreams.

Time Change

Glancing around the bar, Kurama made sure it was the last of the customers had left. Blessedly, it was closing time, and he was alone.

He could barely contain himself a moment longer; this song just begged.

Leaping up onto the bar, he held an empty vodka bottle to his mouth, belting the lyrics that roared from the jukebox into his makeshift microphone.

Well I ain't never been the Barbie doll type

No I can't swig that sweet champagne I'd rather drink beer all night

In a tavern or in a honkey tonk or on a four-wheel drive tailgate

I've got posters on my wall of Skynyrd, Kidd and Strait

Some people look down on me, but I don't give a rip

I'll stand barefoot in my own front yard with a baby on my hip

'Cause I'm a redneck woman

I ain't no high class broad

I'm just a product of my raising

I say, 'hey ya'll' and 'yee-haw'

And I keep my Christmas lights on

On my front porch all year long

And I know all the words to every Charlie Daniels song

So here's to all my sisters out there keeping it country

Let me get a big 'hell yeah' from the redneck girls like me

Hell Yeah!

He grinned crazily as he danced around on the tabletop, hips swinging wildly to the fast tempo of the song. Taking a deep breath, he accompanied Gretchen Wilson on the second verse.

Victoria's Secret, well their stuff's real nice

But I can buy the same damn thing on a Wal-Mart shelf half price

And still look sexy, just as sexy as those models on TV

I don't need no designer tag to make my man want me

Well, you might think I'm trashy, a little too hardcore

But in my neck of the woods I'm just the girl next door

I'm a redneck woman

I ain't no high class broad

I'm just a product of my raising

I say, 'hey y'all' and 'yee-haw'

And I keep my Christmas lights on

On my front porch all year long

And I know all the words to every Tanya Tucker song

So here's to all my sisters out there keeping it country

Let me get a big 'hell yeah' from the redneck girls like me

Hell Ye-

Gretchen continued to sing the refrain one last time, ending with a very loud and enthusiastic 'Hell Yeah!' All Kurama could do was stare down from his stage, his face striving to match his hair color. "Uh . . . c-can I help you?"

Pale lips curled into a smirk, as bloody eye bore into emerald ones. "Hn."

Turning his face away, Kurama clambered down, disappearing behind the bar for a moment. The other heard the faint but tell-tale sound of a glass being filled and its contents quickly being swallowed before the redhead popped back into sight. "Heh. So, um, what'll it be?"

That perfect face never changed, the smirk on his delicate lips mocking. "Beer. Forget the glass."

Fighting to control his blush, Kurama reached under the bar and pulled out the bottle of Bud. He glanced at the clock as he placed it on the counter, noting that the time Nocturne's Nest closed at was five minutes past.

The other saw his glance and turned back to the redhead. "Do you mind me staying, or did you want to sing some more?"

"No," Kurama ducked, his cheeks burning again. "That's okay . . ." He trailed away hopelessly, standing uncomfortably as the other settled onto the barstool and twisted the cap off his drink. Kurama swallowed, watching the other raise the bottle to his lips and drink, his pale neck tilted back. The muscled in his neck moved as he drank, and Kurama shivered, admiring the grace before him. "So, I haven't seen you around here before. I'm Kurama - don't think I caught your name, though."

"That's because I never gave it."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Hiei."

Hiei. The sound of it sent waves of ecstasy crashing over him, filling his ears with the music of the name. Absolutely glorious. But the symphony of that name was horrible jarred by the awkward silence that followed, the other looking at him with a look that clearly stated that Kurama was being a moron. "What do you do, Hiei?" Oh, smooth. That was excellent; he was acting like a hormonal teenager with a crush. He didn't like that at all.

The dark one snorted gently at the counter top. "I'm in between jobs."

Kurama blinked, before opening his mouth again. "Oh. I'm sorry. Right now I'm working at a bar . . ." He quickly clamped it shut. A mantra began ringing through his head, and he almost missed Hiei's smirking 'I see', because it was so loud. Stupid stupid stupid . . .

He blushed some more, and ducked under the bar, coming up with a bottle of bourbon. Pouring himself a shot, he swallowed it in one go, wincing as the amber liquid burned all the way down his throat to rest in a warm little pocket in his chest. "Right. Well, I need some more alcohol to finish this conversation, it's past closing time, so technically, you don't have to pay, and neither do I. Here's to idiocy and being tongue tied." He poured and downed another shot, reaching his hand across the bar.

A small, pale one met his in a firm grip, and Hiei's eyes sparked with ironic mirth. "Hell Yeah."

A/N

So yup, that's how it's working so far. I honestly don't care if it's not being read and the people who do read and don't comment only bother me a little. I want to know what y'all think, 'cause I feel that I need to improve, and how can I do that if I don't know what needs improvement? I write this for me, and for the bettering of my skills. It's also here for your enjoyment, so please do enjoy. If there are complaints, know this. It cannot be about the contents of the story. If the drinking, swearing, blood, yaoi or plot bothers you, you're not being forced to read. If you can't understand the twists of the plot (for there will be many), or my grammar is terrible, please, let me know.

I got a very nasty e-mail. Can you tell?

By the way, I love bourbon. Definitely something Kurama would drink. And I'm not promoting alcohol or anything, but it's really good stuff. Just drink it slow, or it hurts. All the way down . . .


	4. Three

Three (sort of)

Shwaa! I am amazing. Say it, go on, you know it's true. I love reviews that tell me I'm evil by saying that they love this, because, me being the mean, nasty, persony person I am, they are so, so, so wrong about this fic it's hilarious. First person to figure out what I'm babbling about gets a cookie, and may **_request_** a fic. **_If_** I like the idea, I'll do it, and depending, I may make it a one-shot or a chapter fic. But anyway, I'm doubting that's how it'll work. The contest is over when I spill the beans. And I might give clues in the fic, but I think you have to be me to get them. Look at the reviews, and you could get it. Maybe. _evile grin_

Okay, so a friend of mine, after reading this says to me "How do you come up with all this . . . _crap_?" (I was not a fan of the use of that word.) Well here's the thing. I write the middle/end of the story for at least a half hour, then _maybe_ I'll do a relevant chapter. So, here is the unedited, I-was-bored-and-decided-to-type-randomly version of chapter three.

But . . . I'm stuck. I hate this. Not even the little sister is helping. Stuck . . . stuck . . . stuck . . . don't know what to write . . . yet more midterms tomorrow . . . Bah. AP tests are the devil. AP History, and AP English. That right there is a total of five essays , 115 multiple choice and 6.5 hours of my life wasted. I ran out of ink for three pens. In two days. And I still have Trig/Calc. Bah.

Okay, so here's the deal, with this story I mean. I still have to decide what the heck happens in it. See, Hiei's not really SPOILER! And the two of them fall in "love", 'cause Hiei doesn't know and Kurama doesn't know. But eventually, you find out that SPOILER! But he didn't ask to be a vampire. It was be changed or die, and at the last minute, he chooses to live life as a damned creature. Naturally, Hiei hates his master, and is sworn to kill him, if he can. So of course, when Hiei finds out about Kurama, he freaks, SPOILER, so Hiei can stake him, but since he's his maker, he can't kill him. Vampire moral codes. Go figure. So Hiei fights him, but SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER! So what does the redhead do? The only thing he can. SPOILER! But the whole thing with the title comes from the phrase 'blood is thicker than water,' and there's an older saying that says 'blood is thicker than water, but love is thicker than blood.' SPOILER! In short, if SPOILER! So they love each other, and SPOILER!. The end. I win.

I wrote that stuff at mid-terms. Finals are now over, and school starts in about a month. Oops.

SHOUT-OUTS!

Hellious-rebellious- Oh, and I just love to read death-threats from my reviewers. It gives me the warm-fuzzies. -

Brass monkey- grins sheepishly Okay, you caught me. Yes, I am indeed a die-hard Anne Rice junkie. I've read all of the books and own copies of my favorites. And did I really use "the dark gift"! facepalms Where? I must fix it . . .

Taikai no za Kokoro- Not a stupid question at all. I recommend you re-read that part, and see if you get it. I love the insight and connections you put in there, I appreciate interactive reviews!

Storm31- Hey hon! Good to hear from you again! I'm glad to be back at my computer too. I have a secret. Wanna know? Remember the idea for a sequel for Tadaima? Well, I revamped it to stand alone, without that obnoxious OC, and am currently trying to write it. For you! - Happy un-birthday. Oh, by the way, the use of the word 'hoot' made me giggle.

**To the rest of my reviewers**- Thank you all so much, I know it's been a while and that this sorry excuse for a chapter isn't going to do much for you (I just threw it together because you are all so wonderful you deserve it). I'd love to leave each of you a message, but that would take too long and I have to be at work in about 15 minutes. So hugs and cookies to everyone, and try not to be too disappointed.

**_Extra disclaimer_**- I don't own Starbucks, but seriously, you can't walk 50 yards in NYC without passing one. It's like, you wake up, get your coffee at the nearest one because it's convenient, and by the time you've finished your coffee as you're walking down the street, there's another freaking Starbucks. Oh, look. I think I need a cup of coffee. Even though I just got done with one. Yup. Caffeine-fix. (It drives me crazy.)

Chapter Three (for real)

Uncertain light from a nearby lamp threw his form into relief against the wall of the ally just behind the bar called Nocturne's Nest. He gave a sigh of pure joy, his tongue caressing the syllables that flowed from his lips. _Kurama . . ._ the name reverberated throughout his mind. Never had he seen someone so vibrant, so beautiful. The redhead intrigued him, made him feel alive again. Made him long for the hunt. After, he watched the red Honda pull out of the lot before bursting into action. He had dragged a boy, gifted enough to sense what he was, stupid enough to think that he could win against one as experienced as he, around the back and destroyed him. And enjoyed it.

Slinking back around to the parking lot, he swung his leg over the seat of his bike, settling the helmet on his head. With a final glance at the bar, he headed for a tall hotel building at the heart of the cold jungle of steel.

Time Change

A pretty brunette stalked up to the door of a little church, and drawing herself up gracefully, began to pound on the door. "Kurama! Dammit, wake up!" She hammered until her fists were red and sore, but the only sound she could hear was the traffic behind her and her own ragged -not to mention pissed off- breathing. "KURAMA!"

"Wha-at?" She turned to see the redhead holding his ears, wearing a pained and suffering expression. In his hands, seeming to dangle from the sides of his head, were a large Styrofoam cup and a paper bag that bore the label 'Starbucks.'

She glared at him dangerously. "_'What?'_ You have the _audacity_ to ask me 'what?'?" Stomping up to him, she planted herself directly in front of him and hissed, "I am _sick_ of waiting around for you. So we are going to go into your little church _thing _and you are going to explain what the hell you think you're doing, and then beg for forgiveness!"

The redhead cringed visibly. Following the girl to his front door, he unlocked it with a meek "Yes Celia," before letting her in.

Ten minutes later . . .

". . . And the next time it happens, mark my words bucko, you will be knocked on your ass so hard you won't know what hit you." Having completed her venting session, she stood before a thoroughly chastised redhead, fists resting securely on her hips, waiting for some form of reply.

Hanging his head, he looked up at her through his bangs. "I'm sorry."

"Damn skippy you are," she told him confidently. "And to prove it to me, you're taking off work tomorrow and we're going to a nice restaurant and then a movie. It'll be your last chance, so you better not mess it up. You are in deep shit, so I expect you to be humble and considerate for once in your life. Kapeesh?"

"Yes Celia."

Switch

The black-clad youth rolled over, tangling himself further in the linens of his bed. Squinting his eyes shut, he fought against the inevitable waves of alertness that lapped around him. With an annoyed exhalation of 'hn,' Hiei tossed the covers off, swung his legs to the floor and glared at the clock on his dresser. 11:57 blinked at him accusingly. 'How dare you be out so late?' the numbers demanded. Turing the appliance so it faced the wall, he stood, grabbing his shirt from the floor on his way to the bathroom, leaving the clock to flash a red glow on the cream-colored wall.

Pulling back the nylon curtain and twisting the knob, he examined his shirt while he waited for the water to warm up. The boy last night had been a fighter; there was a long gash down the front and one of the sleeves ended a few inches shorter than the other in a mess of frayed black fabric. With a sigh of disgust, he tossed the garment aside, he'd do something with it later. His pants followed suit, landing in a heap on the ground.

Stepping into the shower, he let the warm water glide over his toned body, giving a small moan of pleasure as his muscles finally began to unwind and relax. His hair fell around his face, soaked, too heavy to stand up in it's normal style. Raising his arm to brush a strand from his eyes, he caught a glimpse of crimson, blood that had dried on his fingers. Red . . . red hair . . . exquisite. He couldn't have him, and that made him want him more.

The blood began to drain from his brain to fuel another part of his body, his stomach tightening as his member hardened. Wrapping his scarlet-encrusted hand around his erection he groaned softly, whispering the name. "Kurama . . ."


	5. Four

Why is it that everyone is calling for poor Celia's death? I happen to be a fan of her. _Grin _Anywho, patience dear readers. After all, how can the boys get together when there's a troublesome girl in the way? And besides, Hiei won't appreciate the fact that she keeps trying to make Kurama take a different shift at the bar, now will he? No, no, he won't.

Oh, and seriously, I've been threatened with death to update this story thrice now. I'm not sure to be happy about that, or if I should start fearing for my life . . . _shifty eyes_ There is safety in anonymity, there is safety in anonymity, there is safety in anonymity, thereissafetyinanonymity, thereissafetyinanonymity, THEREIS FREAKINGSAFTEYINANONYMITYDAMMIT!

Okay, I'm good.

Chapter Four

Blood and chocolate, smooth and rough,

Pain and pleasure, awake desire,

Both sustaining, cool the fire

But how long will chocolate be enough?

Kurama ran the brush through his hair one more time, checking his reflection in the mirror. He did _not_ look good. His green eyes were dull, his normally fair skin pale to the point that it looked unhealthy. He had not slept well last night, and this was his fifth day without a real meal. He vowed that he would stop eating just a glazed doughnut and coffee every morning and hoping there was something in his fridge when he got home, because there never was. He didn't know how much longer he could live on chocolate pastries.

Licking cracked lips he shook his head. There was no way he could go out like this. He needed to call Celia and beg off just one more time.

Lifting his phone from the pocket of his jeans, he began to dial the number he knew by heart but stopped just before hitting the 'Send' button, her words reverberating in his head. _It'll be your last chance . . . so you better not mess up . . ._ With a groan, he flipped the gadget shut and stuffed it back in his pocket. There was nothing else for it. He couldn't bring himself to hurt her again, though it would have been easier for both of them. Shrugging into his jacket, he pulled his key-ring out of its pocket and began to slowly make his way through the church.

Switch

Hiei sat at the bar inside Nocturne's Nest, nursing a balloon of brandy in between his pale hands. His bloody eyes were restless, flicking back and forth between the clock that hung on the wall and the door. He should have shown up by now.

Not that it mattered, of course. The strange attraction for this redhead that held him enthralled would end quickly. He just needed to indulge the urge until it worked its way out of his system.

A busty blonde from the other side of the bar approached him, wiping a glass with the corner of her apron. "Hey honey. Stood you up, did she?" Crimson eyes widened in surprise, but the barmaid just gave him a small smile. "It's not too hard to tell, you just look so lonely, and you've been sitting here with the same drink for almost an hour." She patted one of his hands, clasped around the glass. "Here," she placed the quarter-full decanter of brandy next to him. "It's on the house." With a wink, she walked away to tend to the rest of her customers.

Hiei scowled at the decanter. He did _not_ look lonely. Did he? Damn. The stupid girl wouldn't have said anything if he hadn't. Draining his first glass swiftly, he filled it a second time and lifted it to his lips, sipping this time. There was only one thing for it. He had to rid himself of this obsession, both for his sake, and for the redhead's. And the only way he knew to get rid of an obsession was to indulge it. He would need to get to know the boy, and then, eventually, he'd grow bored enough to fade from his life.

So the first step was to find him, and discover what was keeping him away from Nocturne's Nest, the safest place for them to be together. Then, he had to make that distraction go away.

Assured by his plan, his upper lip lifted in a feral half smile as he brought the glass once more to his mouth. This would be a hunt that he would thoroughly enjoy.

Switch

Kurama's car pulled up in front of a brick apartment complex. Shifting the gear into 'park' he idled there for a minute, waiting for his date. She walked out the door in a slinky black dress and heels that had to be more painful than they were worth. Flashing Kurama a brilliant smile, she opened the door and slid in, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

He returned the smile weakly. "Ready?"

She nodded happily, grin still in place. Her hand rested on his knee, squeezing slightly as he shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. They drove in silence and Kurama was acutely aware of her fingers, splayed out on his thigh. He stared straight ahead as those fingers began to move, softly brushing in tiny circles, making the fabric of his pants rub against his skin in a way that normally would have made him pull the car over.

But not tonight. Something was wrong, tonight.

Instead, he parked the car between a pair of parallel yellow lines and killed the ignition, getting out to open the door for Celia. Slipping her arm through his, he led her into the restaurant.

The host stood behind a walnut-stained podium, his hair slicked back and his suit pressed neatly, shirt a pristine white that was almost painful to behold. Smiling sveltely at the couple, he led them to a round table beside an artsy fireplace, complete with candles and flowers for ambiance. Handing the two their menus with a smooth 'Enjoy the meal,' the host disappeared.

Hiding his face in his menu, Kurama clenched his teeth, fighting back the waves of nausea that threatened. He closed his eyes, reaching out for the cut crystal glass that was dripping cold water down its sides, taking a hesitant sip. The icy water burned his parched throat and he quickly set the glass down. He was about to excuse himself when a penguin-suited waiter planted himself beside the table, his lips fixed in a polite smile like his co-worker's. "Good evening. My name is Richard and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with anything to drink?"

The woman across from him beamed back at the waiter and Kurama inwardly grumbled about people who were far too cheery. Why all the smiling? What was it about this place that had people acting like they were on laughing gas? He glanced around, looking for the air vent, curiously sniffing at the air as he did so.

Someone cleared her throat and he started. Celia and the waiter were both looking at him intently, the waiter's smile still in place, but Celia's brows were raised. "Sorry," he said, his voice slightly scratchy. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Sorry. I'll have a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, please."

The waiter nodded and glided away. Her gaze still fixed on Kurama's face Celia opened her menu. "Is everything alright?"

The redhead took another sip of his water, lying smoothly, "I'm fine."

She nodded, leafing through the thick pages of the leather-bound booklet. "So what are you thinking?"

He looked up from his own sharply, green eyes piercing her. "I beg you pardon?"

She waved her hand, oblivious to his reaction. "What do you think? I was looking at the roast duck."

He relaxed, letting out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Ah. I'm not sure yet…"

He was interrupted when that damn Richard came back, carrying the wine and still grinning like a fool. "Are you ready to order, or do you need some more time?"

Celia readily chirped that they were ready, despite the fact that Kurama had barely skimmed the second page of the menu. Pressing his lips together he suppressed an irritated growl as she ordered the duck with orange sauce with a side of glazed asparagus.

"And for you, sir?"

He opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to his mind. "The steak tartare."

Celia's nose wrinkled in distaste at the choice and the waiter's eyes went glossy as he performed the oft-rehersed line. "Sir, restaurant policy states that I remind you of the potential health risks of consuming raw or under-cooked meat. The steak tartare consists mainly of raw beef."

Taking a shaky gulp of his wine, Kurama nodded. "I am aware of the risks," he rasped wryly.

Switch

He had waited too long. He was getting restless, and it was evident Kurama wouldn't be there tonight. Leaving his tab and a generous tip for the barmaid on the counter, he slid off his stool and out the door of Nocturne's Nest. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he set off down the brightly lit sidewalks of New York. Lifting his face to the stale wind, he breathed deep, the exhaust-laden hot air filling his lungs and ruffling his dark hair.

Something inside of him felt empty, like he was missing a piece of his stomach. An unnatural hole that needed to be filled. It was a feeling he was very familiar with. Turning down Sixty-fifth Street to Center Drive and the darkened Central Park, he lifted his eyes to the sky, the moon and stars rendered invisible by the lights of the city, and his lips curved into a bittersweet smile.


	6. Five

Hello everyone. Miss me? Hope it was worth the wait! Let me know...

Five

Kurama's gut lurched uneasily as he gazed apprehensively at the wriggling brown mass that jiggled sinisterly at him from its crystal bowl. The chocolate mousse that was Tavern on the Green's specialty dessert glistened wetly, tempting the redhead to empty his stomach onto it. Apparently, the steak wasn't helping anything.

He valiantly fought down the urge, taking another gulp of wine, emptying the glass. His hand shook as he replaced the vessel on the table and he could feel Celia's gaze on his face. Wiping his lips with his napkin, he debated his options. 1) Disappear into the bathroom 2) Get the Hell out of there or 3)…. Well, three didn't bear thinking about. Signaling to the waiter, whatever his name was, he kept his fevered green eyes on the man as he made his slow way towards the table.

Richard bent over, presenting his ear to the redhead, who tried not to gag as the man's scent washed over him; cheap hair oil, tacky cologne and human sweat. His voice rasped from his dry throat, and he had to repeat himself so the waiter could hear his strangled request. "More…wine."

With a distasteful sniff, Richard unbent himself and walked away, back ramrod straight to retrieve the dinner wine for this uncultured slob's dessert. Celia's eyes followed the obviously irritated waiter, then snapped back to Kurama, who was visibly wilting under the romantic lights. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.

Managing a weak smile, he grated, "I must be getting sick."

"Sick?" she asked incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me? Jesus Kurama, if you're sick, you shouldn't be going out, you should have called and cancelled."

Something inside the redhead that had been twisting about itself all evening finally gave up and snapped. "Cancelled?" he hissed. "_Cancelled?!_ I'd like to remind you,_ dearest_, that you were the one who demanded we go out. _You _were the one sick of me begging off, and _you_ were the one who told me this was my last chance! Don't you _dare_ try to make this my fault, you conniving…" he quickly strangled his words, lest they complete the sentence and doom him. Perhaps they already had. Celia's face was a mask of shock, her eyes wide with horrified embarrassment that the other patrons had turned around to listen in on the outburst.

"That's right," she hissed, pulling her napkin from her lap and throwing down on the table. "This is _my_ fault." She stood, her chair screeching across the wooden floor. She turned, without a backward glance storming from the room, snatching her coat off the rack at the entrance and disappearing into the swiftly cooling night.

Digging into his pocket with a curse, every eye in the room upon him, Kurama pulled out his wallet, leaving a significant pile of bills on the table and following his irrational companion into the darkness.

Switch

His wandering footsteps carried him down the familiar path, one he had traveled many times in the past. It seemed so long ago, surely not so long as he thought. But then… so much had changed. That one night, here, in this peaceful place, his whole world had been shattered. He had awoken to agony, to an emptiness that consumed him, still threatened to, but he was strong now. And he would never be hurt again. He had rebuilt his life, working around this dark gift that had been given to him, wandering the night-black city streets, searching for fulfillment. It never came.

Ahead of him, the playground rose up from the wood-chip flooring, the old metal slide gleaming gently, the swings swaying in the chill breeze that swept around him. Grasping the dangling chain, he sat, feet dragging in the deep scuff marks left by so many children. It had been here, that his heart had died. He had been sitting on these swings, wishing he could become more than his father would allow him, leave his childhood behind and become an adult. How foolish he had been! Now, all he could wish for was to have his life back, to undo it all, to take back the angry words that he had said, to have stayed home and begged forgiveness, to take back the terrible trick that Fate had played on him.

He felt a wave of self-pity wash over him, ruthlessly pushed it back. Standing abruptly, the swing hit the backs of his knees as it continued its pendulum course. Wrapping his hand around the chain hanging by his shoulder, he gave a sharp yell, venting years of frustration in one sound, ripping the chain from its mooring. Panting, he looked down at the metal links wrapped around his arm, the cold rings circling his tattoo.

With a frustrated growl, he shook free, slinking away towards the woods next to the park. Ignoring the trails, he quickly disappeared into the dense brush.

Switch

She paused, tearing off her heels so she could walk faster. How dare he? Her muttering was interrupted by a cry from up ahead, near the playground. She hesitated. Only silence followed.

Warily she continued down the path, through the playground then the wood was the fastest way to cross the park and to get back home. Screw Kurama. She didn't want to deal with his issues anymore. She was better than that.

Straightening resolutely, she continued forward.

Switch

He knew where she was headed, taking off at a run, he followed, leaving the path to skirt around the playground, hoping to cut her off. He didn't know what he was going to do, to say; only that it had to happen. His pulse beat furiously, his stomach cramping as he raced across the grass.

Switch

She paused, the wood chips digging ungently into her bare feet as she stood before the swing-set. Someone had ripped one of the chains off the top bar, so the swing hung lopsided, its broken end trailing miserably on the ground. She hesitated at the entrance to the woods, wondering if whoever had done this was still around. But she heard nothing, no footsteps, no crackle of leaves. And Kurama would follow. Not something she wanted to handle right now, or ever for that matter.

Stepping forward, she entered the woods.

Switch

He watched her go into the woods, staying on the path. Swinging around, he leapt into a tree, launching himself from branch to branch, trunk to trunk. What was she doing? It was dark out, she was completely alone, and dressed entirely inappropriately to be wandering about in the woods.

He'd just make sure she made it out safely. He was in no mood to feast tonight, his anger fueling him, stronger than the hunger that had plagued him all day. He would just follow her to the edge of the path; make sure she made it home…

Switch

He emerged from the trees, following the sound of someone stumbling through the undergrowth. He hadn't seen her enter, but that didn't mean much. He continued down the path, his steps slow with uncertainty.

Switch

She cursed, her ankle buckling, falling to one knee on the path. Examining her foot, she pressed the gash left there by some unseen object. Uttering an unlady-like word, she tried to wipe away the blood on the leaves beneath her, but only succeeded in getting mud on her hands. Wobbling to a stand, she tested her weight, uncertain she could walk with the cut.

Switch

He froze in the tree above her head, crimson eyes avid as he scented the blood that suddenly spilled form her. No. He had to restrain himself. Drawing back, he began to turn. But the damned woman stood, stretching the skin further, opening the wound. His head snapped around, vision narrowing in on this woman who had suddenly become his prey.

Switch

She stopped, heard the trees around her rustle. "Hello?" she called uncertainly.

Switch

"Hello?" It was enough. Dropping from his shadowy perch, he streaked towards her, her weak human eyes unable to see him as he ran directly at her. He tackled her, carrying her slight frame to the ground, heard the satisfying thud of his body landing atop hers, felt her struggle against him.

He was stronger. He would win.

Grasping her wrists in one hand, he pulled them high above her head. Her eyes were dazed, unfocused as she tried to regain her stolen breath. His other hand lifted her chin, and it was too late for words.

Swooping low, he sank his teeth into the soft, white flesh of her neck, warm blood exploding into his mouth, over his tongue, down his throat. He groaned in satisfaction, suckling at the wound, tasting her as she began to panic, tried to get away.

Too soon… he felt frustration building as her life seeped away with her blood. Lifting his head, he looked into her fading brown eyes as death stole over her.

Her lips trembled, working to form a single word. "K'rama…"

Kurama? The word was familiar, he knew the sound… staring down in horror at the dead girl in his arms, his eyes widened in recognition. Kurama, his name… "No!" he cried in denial, dropping the body and running into the night.

Switch

Kurama stumbled from the woods, almost tripping upon the form slumped in the middle of the path. Her brown hair tumbled about her, tangling in the twigs and dirt that covered the ground, her skin colorless, eyes wide and unseeing. His legs collapsed from beneath him, going to his knees, he lifted her limp body into his arms, cradling her head to his chest. "Oh god," he moaned, a low animal noise of agony. "Celia, baby, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry…" Rocking back and forth, his tears fell, dripping down to spatter the earth like blood.


	7. Six

I believe that it was DemonUntilDeath who thought that Kurama's reaction to Celia's death was not visited properly and slightly out of place. It was out of place, wasn't it? _Very_ out of place. Hm. I wonder why that would be?

If only you could see me grin right now.

xo

Chapter Six

Four days later, Kurama stood beside a deep pit in the ground; it's dark, open mouth yawning up to swallow the polished wooden box that was slowly being lowered into it. The priest mumbled a prayer, accompanied by the sounds of crying from the living that stood behind the redhead.

He stood solemn and silent, refusing to cry. He couldn't. He simply could not let these innocent mourners know how their loved one had met her end. It would be too cruel, and none of them would be able to understand anyway.

And so his cheeks remained dry as he tossed a single red rose into the hole with the casket, where it mingled with the white wreath that sat atop the wood, a solitary, bloody testimony of his guilt.

Switch

Hiei sat cross-legged before a faded stone, surrounded by the monuments of the dead. His fingers idly traced his father's name upon the whether-roughed surface, tranquil in the crisp autumn air that toyed with his hair and clothes. He murmured softly to the stone, telling his father of his life, of the things he had done, poured his heart out to the silent rock, knowing it would forgive him without judgment. It certainly beat confession.

If only it were his father that he was whispering to, who would forgive him and tell him he had done the right thing. But Hiei had quickly learned that regret does nothing but slow you down and torture you with "what ifs" and "if onlys." He had suffered enough from his guilt; if only he had tried a little harder, what if he had gotten there sooner… but then his father would be alive, and he would not be what he was today.

And while it was terrible, he liked who he had become. Strong. Powerful. In complete control. No one would ever take that from him ever again.

The only problem he could find with the foreseeable future was that boy. Yes, the bartender was taller than him, but with his carefree attitude and easy smiles, Hiei couldn't help but think of him as a child. The dark-haired man had spent every night, from nine o'clock up until one, at Nocturne's Nest, waiting for the other to show up. But he never did. The place was full of his presence, so Hiei knew that their meeting was no accident, Kurama frequented the bar often. So why hadn't he been there in the past week?

Hiei was determined to have him, but how did one lay claim to something one could not find? Frustrating.

Lifting his eyes to the mass of black-clad people gathered around a freshly dug grave, his attention was grabbed by a splash of red hair engulfed by more subtle colors. He only knew of one person with red hair that long and vivid… Watching intently, he was rewarded by a flash of green eyes and that beautiful face, drawn and sad, an answer to his silent prayers.

Unfolding himself from the ground, Hiei brushed off the back of his pants, thrust his hands in his pockets and began to walk toward the dispersing crowd.

Switch

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, turning Kurama gently around. He did so slowly, eyes drinking in the sight of the beautiful man that had walked into his bar a mere week ago. Had it only been a week? Hiei. His name was Hiei, that much he remembered.

Kurama felt his legs weaken under the scrutiny of those mesmerizing red eyes, feeling his own well with tears he struggled to hold back.

Hiei scanned the redhead, dressed all in black, emphasizing his pallor and his valiant fight to remain unemotional. Grasping Kurama's hand in his own, he pulled, leading the passive bartender from the crowd.

"Come on," Hiei whispered. "Let's get you out of here."

Switch

The aroma of coffee that steamed from the cup in front of him brought some measure of life to Kurama's eyes as he wrapped his long fingers around the mug. Lifting his gaze from the white ceramic, he looked up at the man across the table. Hiei looked like some barely tamed wild thing, his hair a mess of black, his white t-shirt almost too tight, tucked into black jeans. His angelic face was turned towards Kurama, a worried look fading to be replaced by a smile.

Not really a smile, Kurama corrected himself, more of a twitch of the left side of his mouth, which was the closest he would get to the real thing. His own lips curved tentatively in response as he lifted the mug and sipped at the bitter brew.

Nodding in approval, Hiei did the same, not once taking his eyes from Kurama. When the redhead set his cup down, he asked "Better?"

"Much," Kurama hesitated. "Thank you."

He brushed it off with a shrug. "You looked like you needed to leave. But you're alright now?"

Kurama began to nod, but the tears that stung the back of his eyes called him a liar, and he knew the other saw it.

"Tell me," he commanded.

Kurama chuckled dryly, ironic that the only person who would ask him was a near stranger. Ironic that he wanted to tell him the truth.

"Her name is… was Celia. She was my girlfriend," he confessed, and Hiei felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Damn. "And, uh, the last thing I said to her was that she was a conniving bitch and basically that I never wanted to see her again."

Hiei relaxed fractionally. Better, they had broken up. Still not good though.

"I mean, how's that for closure? So she left me sitting at a restaurant table, and I followed her… I found her in Central Park… she was dead…" Kurama lifted his hands to his face, coffee forgotten. "I just didn't know what to do… she was sucked dry, there wasn't any blood left in her body."

Across the table, Hiei had stiffened, face carefully blank. "What do you mean, no blood?" he asked.

Kurama giggled hysterically, "I know! The police think it was one of those wannabe gangs trying to make it look like a vampire attack." He giggled again, hoping it would hide his guilt. "Seriously. Vampires…"

Inhaling deeply, Hiei took another sip of coffee. "Vampires. Jesus."

Scanning the small, pale face before him, Kurama reached out with both hands, wrapping them around the smaller ones holing the coffee cup. "Thank you… for getting me out of there. And for listening. I know it sounds unbelievable."

Hiei nodded, setting down the cup and turning his hands so he held the other's in his own. "Your hands are freezing." Using his thumbs, he rubbed tiny circles around the backs of Kurama's hands, trying to coax some warmth into them.

Kurama stared intently at him; face tilted down, fiery eyes focused on his self-appointed task. The sensation of the not-quite innocent skin on skin contact sent a shiver coursing through the redhead. He sighed, allowing himself this one small pleasure.

His fingers stilled, simply holding the now warm hands in his palms before grasping them lightly. "Come. Coffee is not what you need."

Switch

Kurama hoped to whatever god was listening that they would not crash. The motorcycle flew down the streets, the buildings a blur as they passed. Cars in New York barely hit forty miles per hour with so many stoplights and pedestrians, but the bike… Oh, why did he agree to this?

Hiei had chivalrously given his only helmet to the redhead, who clung frantically to him, glad that the reflective visor kept his eyes safe from the dark hair that whipped behind Hiei. Turning his head to rest it on Hiei's shoulder, Kurama felt the hard muscles shift and squeezed his eyes shut as they zoomed around a corner. He swore he felt the pavement brush against his polished black shoes and held on even tighter.

In front of him, Hiei was trying not to grin in elation. The redhead's slender but strong arms were wrapped around his waist and clutching the shirt over his chest. He could feel the entire length of Kurama pressed against his back, shifting when he did, keeping their bodies in tune as Hiei drove at breakneck speed through the city. He could feel the warmth of the redhead though his shirt, combined with the contact and the speed sent a thrill of exhilaration down Hiei's spine. It was better than the hunt. It was even more primal, more basic. Sex and danger.

Giving up his struggle, Hiei grinned demonically against the wind. He would make Kurama forget his pain, and then he would _finally _rid himself of his obsession.


End file.
